Fortunately, we don’t run into anyone in the two hundred feet it takes to reach the entrance to the building. Once we’re there, Tyler pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, and a second later, the light on the access pad changes from red to green. He smiles as he pushes the door open with his gloved hand—flesh colored latex to look like skin—and gestures for us to follow him.
The mailroom is empty, just as we expected; the overhead lights reflecting dully on the rows of metal mailboxes. In one corner, a recycling bin is nearly overflowing with discarded mail, and beside it, there’s a towering stack of empty cardboard boxes. A sign on the wall ironically reminds the residents,Please break down all boxes before recycling.
To our right is the hallway that should lead us to Donaldson’s apartment, but before we turn down it, I gesture to stop. While Ace and Tyler wait in the mailroom, I creep ahead to peer around the corner.
Like the mailroom, the hallway is well lit, with modern wall fixtures glowing brightly at regular intervals. I prick my ears, listening for the sound of a door opening or the tap of footsteps on the shiny black tile. But there’s nothing aside from a brief burst of laughter from a television playing somewhere down the hall.
Turning back to Ace and Tyler, I motion for them to follow. Together, we move towards apartment N107, which I know from our research is one of the bigger units in the building.
More room to stash his fucked up surveillance gear,I can’t help thinking. He needs a place to hide all the cameras he removed from the theater and Noelle’s apartment. And who knows what other shit he’s got tucked away in there. Noelle might not be the only one he’s watching, after all. He could have been pulling this shit for years without anyone knowing.
No. I shove the door shut on those thoughts again. Later, I can work on untangling the mess of emotions I’m feeling. But not now.
When we arrive at Donaldson’s door, I glance up and down the hallway once more before pulling my lockpicks from my pocket. This is one of the riskier parts of our plan—if we’re spotted just walking through the building, it’s not too problematic, but if someone sees me picking the locks… Well, that would be a lot harder to talk ourselves out of.
But fortunately, the hours of practice pay off. Before joining Blade and Arrow, I would never have thought picking locks would be a part of my job description. But during one of our first discussions with Cole, he explained the value of it.“I’m not saying you have to,”he said,“but there have been times when we needed to gain access for a rescue. Times when we couldn’t afford to wait.”
This might not be a rescue in the traditional sense of the word, but I don’t feel an ounce of guilt breaking into Donaldson’sapartment. Not when it means putting an end to his sick obsession with Noelle.
I have the doorknob open in under thirty seconds, and then I move on to the deadbolt. While I’m maneuvering the lockpick, Tyler and Ace hover close on either side, shielding me as best they can just in case anyone comes by.
Fortunately, no one does. And less than a minute later, the deadbolt slides open with a soft snick. I exchange a quick glance with Tyler and Ace, sharing a silent communication. They both lift their chins in acknowledgment, and I do the same.
On a held breath, I carefully turn the doorknob and push the door open.
We quickly move inside, closing the door quietly behind us. The apartment is laid out so we enter through the kitchen, with the dining area and living room just beyond. The open-concept space is dark, with the only light coming from the clock on the oven and the moonlight streaming through the patio door.
The apartment is cool, almost uncomfortably so, and I can hear the soft whoosh of the air conditioning working. But there’s an odd stillness to the air. An emptiness. Like there hasn’t been movement for quite some time.
My neck prickles. The hair on my arms stands up.
Ace looks at me, his expression grim. He feels it, too.
Tyler leans close, his voice almost inaudible as he speaks near my ear. “Do you smell that?”
I sniff the air, first catching the scent of disinfectant. But on the heels of it, a sour aroma hits me—an unpleasant combination of rotting fruit and sickness.
My body tenses. Silent alarms sound in my head.
It’s not terribly strong, not from here, but I recognize that smell. I’m pretty sure anyone who’s been active duty has.
Gesturing left, then right, the three of us fan out through the apartment like we discussed before. But I haven’t even reachedthe far end of the living room before Ace comes back out of the primary bedroom. His features are dark and stony as he says quietly, “You need to come see this.”
He doesn’t have to tell me what he found. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know.
Tense with anticipation, I head towards the bedroom, bracing myself for what I’m about to see inside. Given the smell, it’s a pretty sure guess. But how? When? And what else is in there?
Then I walk through the doorway, and my suspicion is confirmed.
We found Ken Donaldson. But he’s dead.
Now that I’m in the same room, smelling the pungent odor of early decomposition, I’m shocked I didn’t realize it the second we came into the apartment. But the bedroom door was closed, and with whatever cleaning products he must have used in the kitchen…
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“Yeah,” Ace replies softly. “Fuck.”
As I approach the bed, where Donaldson is stretched out on top of it, Tyler comes into the bedroom and mutters, “Shit.”
